


Something Greater

by WhisperingMagpie



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Supernatural, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Asgard, Asgardian Sam, Elf Dean, M/M, Set after Thor: Dark World, Sexual Slavery, Triple-jointed pleasure elves, Unrelated Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Wincest - Freeform, Álfheimr | Alfheim
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 10:16:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13611285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhisperingMagpie/pseuds/WhisperingMagpie
Summary: After the hard battle against the nearly unbeatable dark elves, Sam was tired and he just wanted to rest. He didn't really want to drink and celebrate with his fellow warriors.He should have known he wasn't going to have a quiet night.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dreamer_of_Improbable_Dreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreamer_of_Improbable_Dreams/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Army of Birds](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13286274) by [WhisperingMagpie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhisperingMagpie/pseuds/WhisperingMagpie). 



> Rating, warnings and tags may be updated with future chapters.
> 
> The idea for pleasure elves came from the Marvel wikia, where comicverse Thor mentioned a village of 'Triple-jointed Pleasure Elves'.
> 
> For my friend @seafoxfire, who helped with ideas. Also thanks to my friends @witchwolfsage and @creatureteeth for helping with research.
> 
> If anyone is interested, I've written more stories involving my original characters, Aidan and Vidar. The beginning of the series is linked in the Inspired By link.

Sam had barely touched the large mug of mead in front of him. After the hard battle against the nearly unbeatable dark elves, he was tired and he just wanted to rest. He didn't really want to drink and celebrate, but he stayed a socially acceptable amount of time, pretending to drink when speeches were made. Asgard was safe once again, and Sam just wasn't really the partying type.

He noticed some of his fellow warriors harassing the pleasure slaves they'd 'liberated'. Liberated was their wording. More likely they just wanted the slaves for themselves. They were smiling and joking, asking about what the slaves were capable of, in terms of bedside abilities. The slaves looked to be light elves, from Alfheim.

Sam had heard about a village of elves from back in the days when Alfheim flourished, who were born for pleasure. Thor bragged about them being double-jointed and made to take cock in any position, but it sounded like a story made up after too much to drink. Elven numbers had been greatly diminished after the War of the Realms, after which all remaining light elves deemed useful were taken back to Svartalfheim.

Among the small group were also a few of the more attractive elven warriors apparently too pretty to kill, and therefore they were grouped with the slaves to be kept as war prizes. Sam sighed and stood from his seat, taking one more quick sip of his mead and bidding his comrades goodnight, before departing. On the way out, he was nearly knocked over by a warrior drunkenly stumbling out at the same time. He was dragging a male elf with behind him, most of the elf's armor removed and stripped down to a thin tunic. The other man barely noticed him as they stumbled past, and Sam raised his hands to catch his balance. The elf was snarling and trying to pull himself away, clearly not happy with the arrangement.

“Unhand me, I’m not some prize for you to do with as you please! I’m a warrior!”

The elf continued the fight and squirm, but his slim build was no match for the burly Asgardian’s grip.

The warrior just chuckled as he yanked the elf into an alleyway between two buildings, pinning him and starting to feel around under his tunic.

“Bullshit. You’re too pretty to be a warrior,” the man murmured as he held both of the elf’s wrists in one massive hand, while the other trailed down his side, squeezing his hip. “Why, I’d say you’re one of those triple-jointed pleasure elves I keep hearing about. Usually, they’re female, but you’ll do.”

Sam wondered why the elf wasn’t using magic to escape, until he saw a metal cuff on the man’s wrist, inscribed with runes. Probably something to block his magic so he couldn’t escape the rule of the dark elves. It didn't seem right, leaving the elf without a way to defend himself. Sam sighed. He should have known he wasn't going to have a quiet night with all the revelling going on. He stomped over to the pair and grabbed the other Asgardian by the back of his armor, yanking him away. The man snarled and swung at Sam, making some unintelligible grumbling. Sam sidestepped and shoved the man past him, sending him stumbling against a trash bin, where he collapsed.

When Sam turned to check on the elf, he found the male bolting the opposite direction.

“Wait!” Sam called out as he dodged people and followed the elf, ducking down side streets in attempt to get ahead. When he dashed around a corner, he caught sight of the elf climbing on top of a crate and reaching for the edge of the roof. He pulled the elf down by the ankle and wrapped his strong arms around the flailing male, who responded by scratching at his arms and kicking at the wall to try and knock them both backwards.

“Stop, just stop!” Sam said through gritted teeth, his grip firm, “I swear, I'm trying to help you, but you need to stop fighting me! You're on an unfamiliar planet without your magic or weapons, and a lot of people are going to try to take advantage of that, but I can take you somewhere safe to lay low for a while.”

The elf's struggling slowly ceased at his words, and he glared up at Sam like a petulant child, though he looked like he was starting to see the truth. “How do I know you won't try to take advantage of me like your buddy back there?”

Sam's mouth nearly dropped open when his eyes met the other's angry green stare, his short sand-colored hair ruffled up from the struggle. He had not seen such beautiful eyes more than a few times in all his years. They were like the color of soft moss deep in the forest.

However, now was not the time to stare. He slowly released the man and stepped back, both hands raised in a gesture of peace.

“I'll take you to see a healer I know, who knows some other powerful magic, and works with fire as well. Maybe he can get your wrist cuff off. Change the inscriptions or cut it clean off. I swear by the Norns, I'll do my best to help free you.”

Sam held out one hand, which the elf stared at for a moment, before gripping it and shaking firmly. “Fine. What do I call you, My Savior?” He enunciated the last bit with sarcasm.

Sam smiled, “Samuel. Or Sam. Less formal.”

The elf nodded, hands dropping to his sides. “Dean.”

When Sam raised an eyebrow at the uncommon name, Dean rolled his eyes. “It's a nickname. Heard it mentioned by one of my people who had visited Midgard. Sounds more masculine that the name I was born with.”

They both chuckled at that, before Sam turned and gestured down the street, waiting for Dean to follow him as he lead the way. “I've never been to Midgard, but my healer friend is always telling me of his visits.”

“I wouldn't want to,” Dean commented, “I hear its loud, and everyone's always mad about something, rushing around.”

Sam shrugged, pausing to buy some bread, cheese, cured meats, and fruit as they entered the market. “It's not their fault. Humans live short lives. Most don't have time to fully appreciate things.” He tore a piece of bread from the loaf and offered it to his companion.

Dean sniffed at the bread before taking a bite, groaning as he chewed. “For a bunch of barbarians, Asgard has pretty decent cooks.”

Sam grinned and shook his head, tucking the rest of the bread away in his bag, and biting into an apple, sweet juices leaking from his mouth. He wiped his face with the back of his hand.

“So, when can we go see this friend of yours?” Dean asked.

“We can leave in the morning after a night's rest.” At the disappointed look on Dean's face, Sam added, “He lives a good few hour's walk out of town, so we'll need the early start.”

Dean nodded and glanced down at the cuff on his wrist, falling silent and thoughtful for the rest of the trip.

When they reached Sam's home, it was starting to get late, and even so, he could still hear the sounds of those back in the city celebrating. If anything, it seemed like they were partying even harder, if they could still be heard from this far. Sam held the heavy door open, letting the other male past him into the dim room, pausing to light a candle.

Dean looked around at the single large room, walls made of stone and furnishings minimally decorated. Everything was well organized and simple. To one side was a wood stove, a small table and a wooden chair. Against the other wall was a bed, and near the window, a long, cushioned lounge chair and bookshelf. It was sparse, looking barely lived in, but Dean supposed that made sense, if Sam had been away in the war for a while.

“You live alone?” Dean asked as he stood awkwardly by the door, watching as Sam set the candle on the table and pulled a blanket from a trunk at the end of the bed. Sam shook the dust out before spreading it on the lounge and arranging a pillow from the bed at the cushier end.

“Yep,” Sam said simply as he began to pull off his armor, placing the chest piece and chain mail tunic over the kitchen chairs, arm bracers and other small pieces laid on the table. His sword was propped by the lounge. He stripped down until he wore only his undergarments – some soft threadbare breeches that had been patched up in more than one place. Dean wondered if there was a reason he didn't want to talk about living alone. Perhaps there had once been someone else in his life, and it hadn't ended well. “You can have the bed.”

Dean's faced heated up, and he looked away quickly when his companion started openly stripping. “No, no, I couldn't,” He protested, looking between the big bed with its plush pillows and thick comforter, and the lounge chair with thin blanket.

“I insist. You're a guest.” Sam peeled off his boots and set them by the door. He went to a wash basin by the stove, and pumped water into it. Finally peeling off his thin breeches, he used cloth to wash the sweat and grime off his skin, sighing at the cool water. When he'd finished, he dressed again in some loose, comfortable pants. He glanced back to see that Dean was seated on the bed, hands curled around the bottom of his tunic, as if reluctant to remove it. He brought the basin over and set it on the bedside table.

“Though I'd prefer you washed up before sleeping in my bed.”

Dean frowned, and then pulled the tunic off over his head, eyes cast down as he bent to pull off his boots. On the draft from Dean's sudden movement, Sam caught a sweet scent in the air. He had been trying not to stare, but his gaze was pulled back to the slim male, moving back as Dean stood to wash himself.

Despite the well-earned warrior's muscles, there was something delicate about him, and it wasn't just because Dean was an elf. His muscles were less bulky, more lean and sleek. The smell coming off him was flowery and enticing, and it took a moment for Sam to realize what it reminded him of.

Sam breathed in deeply as he leaned closer to the male before him. The scent was much stronger now, with them in an enclosed space, and it was similar to the heady smell of the pleasure slaves back in the pub. It made his mouth water, and his body feel warm with desire.  “It’s true, what the other man said. You were born a pleasure elf, weren't you?” His eyes roamed unabashed over Dean's body, pale and unscarred, his narrow waist and wide, womanly hips.

Dean's hands froze with the cloth pressed to his chest, droplets of water gathering and sliding from the cloth down his belly. His hands began to shake, before he suddenly began to scrub his skin at a fervent pace, startling Sam into stepping back towards the lounge chair. “I didn't ask to be one. I left my village as soon as I was old enough to know how, trained hard to be a warrior.”

Sam looked away and settled on the lounge, pulling up the blanket that barely covered his long legs. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude. Just...your scent, it's...”

“Arousing? Distracting? So I've heard. Can't help it, other than washing regularly.”

Sam shook his head. “Maybe my friend Aidan can do something about that, too. A strong herb to help cover the scent.”

“Doubt it,” Dean sighed, taking the basin back where it'd come from, and then climbing under the warm quilt, drifting off almost immediately in the soft bed.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean woke to the sound of rustling and clattering. He grumbled softly and nestled down under the soft blanket...which wasn’t his. He turned over slowly, searching for whoever he’d spent the night with, but there was no one else, except for...right. He peered over the top of the blanket to see Sam already in light armor, sword at his hip, packing a spare change of undergarments into his bag and filling containers of water.  

“Morning,” Sam greeted him, eyes flicking over towards him. 

Dean squinted sleepily, then glancing over at the sun barely shining in the window. “You're perky at dawn.”

“Got places to be.” Sam grinned at him.

“No breakfast?”

“No breakfast.” Sam chuckled at Dean's loud groan of complaint. “We can eat on the way.”

Dean was still grumbling even as he stuffed his face full of food, and sipped at a thermos of warm tea they were sharing back and forth. Sam had lent him a long coat and thermal leggings when they went to step outside only to find snow was falling. The temperatures had been falling lately, so it wasn't much of a surprise. 

Sam had wrapped a fur cloak around his shoulders and headed out immediately, smiling up at the soft flakes as they landed in his hair. He strode through the snow, looking as happy as if it were a sunny spring day, while Dean trudged along beside him grumpily, hugging his coat around him tightly, which was so oversized on his thinner frame that his hands were completely hidden in the sleeves. 

The next time Sam held a hand out for the tea, he shook his head and held it out of reach. “Dude, I need this for warmth. You're clearly fine.”

Sam just grinned and rolled his eyes, letting Dean keep it. Dean sighed. Even though he disliked the cold, Dean didn’t entirely hate the childlike wonder and charming smile on his travelling companions face. 

After an hour or so of silence with Sam looking frustratingly serene, Dean spoke up, teeth chattering. Anything to distract him from the cold. “So, uh...what made you want to be a warrior?”

Sam's blissful expression fell like a rock. He took a moment to compose himself, swallowing down a lump in his throat. 

“Hey, sorry, you don't have to tell me. Was just...something to pass the time.” Dean said softly.

Sam shook his head, taking a deep breath. “It's fine. Just a story I don't tell often. A person close to me was killed. Someone broke in while I was away and when I got back, she was gasping her last breath, laying in a pool of blood on the floor. I spent a while moping around the house, before I decided I needed to do something before the grief destroyed me. I vowed to find her killer, and fight to stop horrible things like that from happening to other people. Ended up joining Asgard's military. The fighting, the physical exertion gives me something to focus on, keeps me going.”

Dean could barely breathe. Sam's story sent a shiver of ice into his heart. It was so tragic, and yet so heroic. It broke his heart. He nodded slowly, finally finding the words to respond. “That's a very honourable reason to fight. What was her name?”

“Jess.” Sam looked away, staring into the distance.

“I hope you find her killer,” Dean offered hopefully.

“Yeah, me too. Its been almost one hundred years with few leads, but in the meantime, I have my people to fight for.” Sam glanced over at Dean with a grim, one-sided smile. “What about you?”

Dean shrugged, straightening up. “I just...wanted to do something greater. Didn't want to be stuck with the life my destiny and my race had chosen for me. My parents were disappointed that I had been chosen as a pleasure elf at my birth ceremony. They sent me away for training, and I rarely saw them after that. I wanted to do something they'd be proud of. Ran away when training started to get more...hands-on, if you know what I mean.” He laughed nervously. “Bad enough to learn about that stuff on paper but no way am I letting strangers teach me up close. No thanks.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. He had to wonder if Dean had any experience with sex at all, considering how averse he seemed about learning. It was a reasonable response to that kind of upbringing, however asking felt like it would be rude, and might cause Dean more discomfort. Instead, he asked, “So, they don't know you're a hero?”

Dean snorted. “I wouldn't say I'm a hero. We lost. Twice. The time when the Dark Elves killed and enslaved us, and just recently, when your people killed the majority of who was left.”

Sam grimaced awkwardly.

Dean continued on, turning around to walk backwards in front of Sam, eyes narrowing. “Alfheim's had a shit time lately. You barbarians sure didn't help.” Sam frowned, and he opened his mouth likely to say something in his defense. Dean rolled his eyes. “Okay. You're one example of the few people in my life who haven't made things worse, but I don't trust you yet, so keep your eyes and your hands, and your smart remarks to yourself. Got it?”

Holding up his hands in peace, Sam nodded. “You have my word.” 

After that, conversation came a little easier, and they talked about lighter topics. 

When they arrived at Aidan's place, Dean stared up at the treehouse, a wistful smile coming to his face. He glanced at Sam, who didn't seem to share the surprised sentiment.

“Reminds me of home,” he explained.

A voice called to them from up in the tree,“Get up here before you freeze!”, and Dean turned his attention back up again, seeing a man with long fiery hair in the window. 

Sam laughed and lead the way to the base of the tree, where a rope ladder dropped down, leading the way up. When he'd reached the top, he turned to find Dean still on the ground, no longer smiling. 

“You coming?”

Dean blinked up at him, and slowly began to climb, eyes focused on the tree trunk and each rung of the ladder. Sam held out a hand to help him up when he reached the top. Dean waved him away and climbed up, holding on tight to the railing until the trap door had been closed. Even then, he seemed hesitant to let go. He bee-lined for the table in the middle of the room and parked himself on a chair.

“Afraid of heights?” Aidan commented. “Happens to the best of us.”

“Shut your face,” Dean's eyes flicked back and forth nervously to confirm that the view out the windows didn't upset his stomach nearly as much as the climb up, before glaring at Aidan. 

Then he sneezed. A small black fluffy cat meowed up at him from the floor, and Dean stared at it incredulously. He sighed deeply and then took off his coat, happy for the warmth inside the treehouse. “I hear you can do something about this.” Dean held up his wrist to show the shiny wristband.

“Right. Business.” Aidan tilted his head in curiosity and approached to peer at the runes inscribed in the gold band, nudging the cat away with his foot until it scampered off and leapt up on the bed in the corner. He reached out to touch the wristband. “May I?” When Dean nodded, he continued, lifting Dean's arm to inspect it from all sides. “It's a powerful binding spell, but I might be able to help. It'll cost you. How much have you got?”

Dean frowned. He essentially had nothing but the tunic and boots he'd been wearing when Sam rescued him, let alone money.

After draping their outerwear over chairs by the woodstove to dry, Sam joined them at the table. “It's on me, Aidan.”

“Friend of yours? He DOES seem like your type.” Aidan gave him a quick once-over and a grin before returning his attention to the runes, mumbling incantations under his breath. Dean hissed as the wristband began to heat up wherever Aidan's fingers touched. 

“What? I don't have a type,” Sam grumbled, folding his arms over his chest.

Aidan snorted. “You kidding? He looks like a male version of Jess.”

Sam stared for a moment, then shrugged. “He kinda does.” Dean's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“He's also got another problem we were hoping you could help with.” Dean bristled, obviously anxious about the subject. “I wondered if you might have a spell or herb to help mask his scent.”

Aidan sniffed the air for a moment, before leaning in closer towards Dean's neck. “Ah, I thought I smelled something when you came in. Don't see many pleasure elves around here.”

“There will be. The General saw fit to liberate a dozen of them after the battle, though I'm suspect they'll be kept in the Palace for royal use.”

“Least something good came of you all trying to bash eachother's heads in.”

Dean didn't hear another set of footsteps coming up behind him, until someone else was sniffing at his neck. Dean whipped his head around, finding a tall man with dark wavy hair, a hint of Vanir showing in his lean features. He hadn't noticed the guy when they came in, but maybe he'd been sleeping, as he had come from the direction of the bed behind them.

“Damn, he does smell good. I heard those triple-jointed pleasure elves were a myth, but this is better than I imagined. How'd you escape, pretty thing?”

“My name is Dean,” Dean hissed, looking about ready to scratch the man's eyes out, before his expression softened as he admitted, “And I...Sam saved me.”

“Vidar,” The man held out a hand in greeting, but when Dean refused to shake it, he shrugged and grinned at Sam. “'Saved', huh? How is he? Live up to the stories?”

“I wouldn't know. We just met yesterday.” Sam said flatly.

Vidar was looking Dean up and down, causing the elf to squirm in rage. “Then, can I have a go?”

Sam fought back the urge to punch Vidar himself. “No. His body isn't mine to give. And it doesn't belong to you either. He's a warrior. Leave him be.”

“Really? I wouldn't have thought --” 

“Keep it down, you two. I'm trying to concentrate,” Aidan snapped, before addressing Dean, “And you, hold still. Keep trying to squirm away, and you might end up losing your hand.”

Sam and Vidar went silent, the second of the two wandering off to rummage in the cupboards for food.

Dean rolled his shoulders to rid himself of the frustrated tension, before slowly settling. Aidan pulled his wrist closer again, murmuring and tracing the runes until they began to glow purple. When that failed and started to make Dean's wrist sting from heat as well, he sighed and stood up for a break. 

“So, I can do something about your scent. I assume it's something hormonal and ingrained in your biology, so it can't be fixed permanently, but I have some herbs I can mix into a paste for rubbing on the problem areas, which will soak in and overpower your natural odor for longer periods of time. I'll package up a mixture for you on the way out.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, and then nodded. “Makes sense.”

“As for this,” Aidan glared at the wristband, “It's going to take more than conventional methods to get it off. Whoever put it on was powerful. I have another idea to try. Its risky, but freedom even with only one hand intact is better than slavery, right?”


End file.
